Gentleman
by Slushipping
Summary: Reuploaded. Tweek Tweak is wanting to make the first move with Rebecca Cotswolds, but he'll need a little help from a certain Goth kid. Michrietta, Tweebecca.


Re-uploaded. Have some good'ol Michrietta and Tweebecca. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park; it rightfully belongs to Trey Parker & Matt Stone!

* * *

Gentleman

"I feel comfortable in the rain."

"I know you do."

"But I feel uncomfortable in the cold."

"I know you do."

"It's cold rain that I have mixed feelings for."

"I know y—"

Michael stopped himself from finishing that sentence. Grunting, Henrietta began to furiously swipe at her eye make-up that constantly rolled down her cheeks. Her bare arms shivered from the cold, and she was getting totally drenched. It took less than a moment for the tall Goth to answer his texts, while multitasking; he leaned his umbrella above the female's head. Then he ripped his stare from his screen and shook his lanky arms out of his black trench coat and put it around Henrietta's shoulders. The female Goth took a drag of her cigarette before coughing out of surprise. She clenched a handful of Michael's coat and looked at him, perplexed.

"Uh…"

"Pete can't make it today," he said, gazing at his phone. "He just told me that he was dragged off by his grandfather to go on some conformist fishing trip."

"And Firkle? Where is he?" asked Henrietta, the question about Michael's coat still pondering her mind. The clicking noises entered her eardrums as Michael browsed through his phone's messages. She watched him puff his cigarette.

"He went to Wisconsin with his parents for the weekend. He said they're trying to cheer up his uncle who went through a divorce recently."

"Oh, cool," said Henrietta, suddenly engrossed in her freshly painted fingernails. "Well, look at it this way. At least there's another being out of the clutches of those Demi and Bieber wannabes."

"Damn straight," Michael agreed with a nod, the rain visibly dripping off his large nose. He clicked off his phone and dropped it into a pant pocket before turning on his heel, his trusty cane barely making any noise against the sidewalk. "Well, it looks like it's just the two of us then, Henrietta. Where would you like to go?"

Henrietta tapped a couple of fingers against her hip for a moment in thought, her other hand gripping around the handle of Michael's umbrella. "I'm not really in the mood to hear those old waitresses bitch at us at Benny's. My parents are redoing the kitchen; they'll be home all day. And there's no doubt that Mike Makowski will be hanging around us on a Saturday afternoon, wondering where Pete's at. So Village Inn may be out of the question…"

"Mmm…"

Not being an indirect response, Henrietta still looked at Michael with curiosity.

"… I know of another place where we could go. That is, if you're interested."

Henrietta shrugged. "As long as there's coffee."

Shoulders hunched, Michael heaved a small, audible chuckle. "Oh, yeah. There's coffee, all right."

* * *

If there's a coffee heaven—no, make that a coffee hell within the Goth Kids' hopes—Tweek Bros. was surely what it would smell like and Henrietta Biggle wouldn't ever have the desire to leave.

Michael stood in front of the counter top, paying for their drinks—black, as usual and no change. Henrietta had grabbed a table for them, the last at the back of the coffeehouse. She took in the green paint that splattered the walls in a go-lucky fashion, which almost made her sick to her stomach. Swallowing down any steamy vomit, she brushed the last of her cigarettes into the ashtray that was provided. She proceeded to sit in her chair and look over any in-depth artwork that was plastered all over the walls, but none of them seemed particularly interesting.

Henrietta then noticed a bookshelf was on either side of the entrance to the restrooms. Curiosity getting the better of her, she went to have a looksee and browsed thoroughly for any sign of gothic authors. To her disappointment, there were none. There wasn't a glimpse of Edgar Allan Poe anywhere, much to Henrietta's current state. She cursed under her breath and gave into retreating back to the table where Michael sat, quietly sipping his coffee in a warm to-go cup.

"Did you find anything?" he asked.

"Not a single story that's good enough for us," Henrietta muttered, flicking open her lid. She took a long sip, letting the dark liquid trickle down her throat. "There's not even a short story by Edgar Allan Poe. Can you believe it?"

"That's lame. I thought that Tweek was going to get a copy or two for the shelves."

Henrietta raised an eyebrow, lifting the coffee cup to her lips. "Tweek?"

Her older friend nodded. "The owners have a son named Tweek Tweak. I see him around occasionally, either it's here or at school. Weird name; I mean, who in their right mind would name their kid that?" Michael gave a half-hearted shrug. "He's actually… not bad for a conformist. Rather twitchy and overboard with paranoia, but he's okay."

Tingle-tingle! went the entrance bell.

Michael glanced over his shoulder, taking a drag. "Speak of the devil."

In came a kid with blond cowlicks to spare, twitching intensely. Henrietta watched in fascination as the child who carried a picnic basket and wore an incorrectly unbuttoned shirt gestured for someone to come inside—it was a girl who both Michael and Henrietta had never seen before. She was smaller in height, wearing a green sweater and a magenta colored skirt. Her thick brown hair fell in curls while a few locks were tightened at their sides by two round barrettes. She quivered mostly, and kept her hands to herself—quite literally. They were folded neatly to her chest, even when she sat down at a nearby table.

Tweek mumbled in aggravation with himself, his face in his hands.

"I screwed up big time, Rebecca. First the numerous coffee grounds in the picnic basket and then the rain came to ruin everything—gah! This hasn't turned out to be the best day that I had planned…"

The poodle-haired girl placed both hands over his and jittered in unison. "Tweek… don't beat yourself up," she said. "It was a mistake; we all make them."

Tweek grabbed hold of a few pieces of hair, his twitching intensified. "Ugh, this is too much pressure for me to handle… I just wanted to make this date really special… but no, I had to pack coffee instead of sandwiches—ngh!—how embarrassing."

"S-sweetie," stammered Rebecca. "It's okay." She removed her hands and jittered them together, smiling sweetly as a pink blush flared on her cheeks. "… Besides, every date is special to me."

"Ngh—I—r-really?" said Tweek.

Her smile widened. "Really, really."

The twitchy boy calmed down and sighed with relief. He took her hands in his, giving them an affectionate squeeze.

"Thank… thank you," he said genuinely. "I just don't know what I'd do without you, Rebecca. You don't know how happy it makes me to be with you… um…" He glanced to the floor, conflicted in what to say next.

Rebecca took this as an opportunity to scoot closer to him. "Yes?"

Tweek pulled his collar reluctantly. "Err… well, I… I-I know that we've been dating for over a couple months now and I just… uh…" He slammed his face down onto the table in a skittish fit. "God, why is this so hard?!"

The nine-year-old girl's eyes grew wide; innocence seemed to sparkle in them. The very image planted into Tweek's head and then a squeal emerged from his throat, his curious eyes peeking out from underneath his fingers.

"Tweek?" asked Rebecca, concerned. "Sweetie, are you okay?"

"F-f-fine," he managed, trembling from head to toe. Tweek offered a small smile to match her loving one. "I'm—fine. Just fine. I, uh, better grab a cup of coffee. You want anything?"

"Oh… uh…" Rebecca tapped her fingers nervously on the table, her head turned to the menu at the front of the store. "Mint… mocha?"

Another twitch.

"Coming right up!"

He dashed off to his father's register, leaving an unaware Rebecca Cotswolds with a pair of Goth kids. After hearing the love sputter between the sickeningly sweet innocence of the pair behind them, Michael hopped out of his seat with his cane in hand. Henrietta broke her gaze from her cup and sent a questioning look after him.

"Michael, where are you going?" she asked.

"I'll be back in a minute," Michael told her. "I just want to get this pathetic attempt of cutesy-ness out of the way before I stick a pack of lit cigarettes through my eyes."

Henrietta gagged. "… Cutesy?"

The curly Goth approached the wild blond.

"Hey, Tweek—"

"GAH!" Michael dropped his cane and stepped away with caution as Tweek immediately whirled around, clutching a hand to his chest. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry," Michael apologized. "I was only wanting to…"

Now it was Tweek's turn to apologize. "Whoa. Michael, right? Sorry about that; I've been kind of jumpy lately."

"Really?" said Michael dryly. "I'm so freaking shocked. I haven't noticed that at all."

It took a moment for Tweek to realize what the Goth was implying. He gave a knowing smile. "… Oh, oh. Heh. Sarcasm—ngh!—right."

"Just tell Poodle-Girl how you feel. Really, it shouldn't be that hard. Then the sun'll come out and you two can skip out of here and leave us to drink our coffee."

"Oh, I would!" said Tweek, brightening up a little. "But… sh-she's… I've already screwed up twice today… Rebecca and me… we were supposed to go on a picnic at Stark's Pond, but as soon as I opened up the basket, she pointed out that I'd only packed coffee grounds… coffee grounds! An-and that's not all; and then it started to rain and the whole date was ruined… GRAH!" He began to pull his hair out from anxiety. "She… she hates me."

Michael sneaked a glance at Rebecca, who was calmly waiting by herself at the table.

"She looks pretty happy to me," he replied. "Like… too conformist happy. I don't think she's the type of girl to hate you."

"She's so perfect," said Tweek dreamily, eyes drooping.

Michael provided to push the overdosed caffeine kid towards Rebecca's table. "Then tell her how you really feel."

"N-no!"

Like a little child, Tweek chickened out and hid behind the tall Goth, shivering out of fear.

"I-I can't! Not what happened earlier! I'll be the laughing stock of South Park!"

Michael urged to face-palm. "Oh, for the love of… wait here. I'll be back in five minutes."

"W-what?"

"Just do what I say, Tweek."

Michael proceeded to exit the coffeehouse in a huff.

"Michael!" exclaimed Henrietta, who had watched it all from the back of the shop. She groaned in irritation, grabbing her companion's umbrella and coat. "Where are you going now?"

* * *

She found him at the flower arrangement shop right on the corner. She watched him through the window, making a purchase of a dozen red roses at the counter. He made a sideways glance and spotted her and his eyes instantly became wide. Without batting an eye, Michael grabbed his receipt and made a mad dash to the door.

"Oh my God, Henrietta! Holy shit, I'm sorry—"

"It's okay, Michael. Really," she said. "I was just wondering what the hell you were up to."

She gestured to the roses. "Who are those for?"

"Oh, these? They're for Tweek to give to Rebecca," replied Michael. "I just want them to get out of our hair."

"You mean Poodle-Girl?" asked Henrietta. He nodded.

They heard the sound of laughing and were met by the jittery pair of Tweek and Rebecca, who were both walking underneath the cover of Richard Tweak's umbrella. Rebecca smiled timidly at the Goth kids. Michael and Henrietta awkwardly glanced to one another, with no mutual feeling to exchange words.

"Oh," said Rebecca in surprise, her hands patting excitedly. "Isn't it lovely to see other kinds of people in love?"

Henrietta frowned, instantly taking offense of that. "I beg your pardon?"

"The way he looks at you is so sincere," Rebecca went on, "in the coffee shop, I mean. It's so beautiful! I assume you're wearing his coat? He looked awfully wet when I walked in."

A light blush crept into older girl's cheeks, and she coughed on cue. "… Y-yeah. And what's it to you, poodle-like-conformist?"

Rebecca gasped. She covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh! I'm so sorry," she apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to intrude. I just thought… well, I…" She trailed off, mumbling into her hands. "T-Tweek, could you walk me home now? Please?"

Tweek smiled, taking her hand in his. "Sure, Rebecca."

She thanked him by giving him a short nuzzle on the cheek with her nose. He laughed in response, making Rebecca forget all about the incident. When she turned to leave, Tweek looked over at Michael and Henrietta. The tall Goth passed over the bundle of roses behind his back, and Tweek smiled in thanks.

"It was good to see you again, Michael," he whispered. "I'll have to pay you back."

Michael stared at him, his expression emotionless and blank. "Yeah, you better. I paid a perfectly good twenty dollar bill for those. But you can always pay me back on Monday. I'll be at the loading docks behind the school, like always. So you can find me there."

Tweek nodded, twitching again. "Twenty bucks, loading docks behind the school… ngh—got it!"

He followed Rebecca down the street, walking the opposite side where the strips of buildings were, hoping to protect her from any nasty puddles and vehicles that trickled with mud. Henrietta sighed and slugged her shoulders.

"Pity," she said, taking a brand new package of cigarettes from one of Michael's pockets. She proceeded to light one. "I can't believe you wasted money on some stupid flowers just to give to a guy just so he could confess conformist feelings to some doglike girl. … But I was looking forward to burning those roses if your scheme didn't go according to plan."

Michael stared at the sidewalk, blinking a couple of times.

"I actually purchased a single rose before I got Tweek's," he confessed.

"You what? Why?"

Michael slipped a hand behind his back and revealed a fresh purple rose. He handed it to Henrietta, who was spellbound. She looked at him thoughtfully before taking it as her own.

"… Huh. Wow," she said, suddenly speechless. Michael let out a breath before leaning his weight on his cane, smiling a little. "Uh, th—thank you, Michael. That's really…" She didn't want to any words that seemed too conformist, and wanted to choose carefully. "… That's really sweet of you." Damn it. Try to use something else. "I-I mean… what I mean to say is, I prefer dead roses, but this works too, so, thanks."

Michael blinked rapidly, as though feeling stupid. Of course she preferred dead roses. He covered up his disappointment with a fake smile. "Oh—oh, duh, what was I thinking? But you're welcome anyway."

"… Would you like your jacket back?" she offered. "You look a little cold."

"Nah, I have plenty at home. You can keep it."

"… what about your umbrella?"

He shrugged. "You can keep that too, I guess. It's nothing really special anyway."

Henrietta purposely stepped closer to him and all Michael could feel was his rapid heartbeat and her breath against his neck. There was a dancing glow in her eyes that resembled fire. She smirked playfully before dropping the umbrella and yanking him in by the collar.

"God. You are such a romantic conformist, Michael Stoley," she hissed in his ear.

Michael was about to reply, when all of a sudden, Henrietta crushed her lips to his.


End file.
